


Golden Bubble

by Silbrith



Series: Six-Crossed Knot [7]
Category: All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Historical, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 02:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19844170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: During an outbreak of the plague, Jack loses some of his innocence. Story #7 in Six-Crossed Knot.





	1. Petworth

_Notes: This story is set in Elizabethan England and takes place after the conclusion of the novel Shadow of Night. Diana and Matthew departed two years ago. Jack is now ten years old._

* * *

**St. Paul's Cathedral, London. June 1593.**

Tom Harriot paused in the nave of St. Paul's Cathedral to scan the latest royal proclamations. Paul's walk, as the long nave was called, was as crowded as ever with booksellers and news-mongers. Efforts by the queen to restrict the nave for religious purposes had been ineffective. Not even the plague had reduced the demand for the latest gossip.

Jack had told him that the choirboys practiced in the Chapel of St. Mary. It was at the east end of the church and relatively distant from the clamor of the walk. Tom hoped he'd arrived early enough to hear the rehearsal.

The boy had been attending choir school for two years, his musicianship blossoming under the coaching of Thomas Morley. Jack was an adequate singer, but he had a natural affinity for the viola da gamba. He was already playing during church services.

Under normal circumstances, Jack along with his fellow choirboys would also be involved in theatrical productions, but that wasn't meant to be. Another outbreak of the plague had descended upon London in 1592. As a preventative measure, the queen closed all public theaters in London. Some of the boys participated in a few performances at court, but so far Jack had missed out. Now they were rehearsing _Midas_ , a new play by John Lyly, but it could be at least another year before it would find an audience.

Jack was a member of a consort of viols which played during the music interludes, and as Tom made his way back, he could hear the faint strains of a fantasia through the din of voices. When he arrived at the chapel, he slipped into a pew to listen. As the musicians wove complex contrapuntal harmonies, Tom's mind drifted toward optics. Puzzling about the laws of refraction was a much more pleasant undertaking than worrying about the present reality.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a nerve-grating screech followed promptly by a loud crash which echoed harshly in the stone chamber. He looked up to see the bass gambist sprawled on the stone floor next to his instrument. _Not another one_.

"Stand back, boys," Morley ordered. "I'll tend to him."

Jack was rooted in place as he stared at his friend. Tom darted forward to guide him away.

"Does he have the plague?" Jack asked Tom worriedly.

"I don't know, lad. He may have simply fainted." But that wasn't likely. During these dark times, the boy's collapse was probably an indication of something far more serious.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Jack said absently, his attention still fixed on his sick schoolmate.

"I have news from his lordship."

"The rehearsal's over," Morley said. "Boys, you should return to your homes." He nodded at Tom. "I'm glad you're here. I was going to announce at the end of the day that the school is closing." At Jack's exclamation, he added quickly, "Just until the plague loosens its grip."

The news came as no surprise. The grammar school closed last month. Morley was undoubtedly under orders to vacate London. The Queen had taken up residence at Hampton Court Palace. As a Gentleman of the Chapel Royal, Morley's presence would be required at court.

"The school's closing is for the best," Tom said as he helped Jack gather his music. "You wouldn't have been able to attend anyway. We're leaving."

"We are?" he asked, his brown eyes opening wide under his thatch of sandy hair. "Where are we going?"

"Petworth House. A letter from Lord Northumberland arrived today, inviting us to stay. He's often mentioned wanting you to spend time in the country. This is the ideal opportunity." With the queen no longer at Whitehall, there was no need for Hal to come to London. There were far fewer cases of the plague in the countryside and they'd all be safer. "George Chapman is already there. He returned from the Low Countries last month." Tom slapped a mock severe expression on his face. "Just because we'll be away from London, don't think you'll escape your studies. And the stars will be much brighter in Sussex than here."

London had become a sad and dreary place for both of them. Everyone who had the means to flee was doing so. The bunches of hay hung outside infected houses to warn people away were increasing daily. Tom hadn't been alive during the worst plague outbreak of 1563 when a quarter of London's population died, but he'd heard the current outbreak might surpass it.

"Will Lowenna and Robin go with us?"

"Of course. Lowenna will drive the cart. You and I will go on horseback." The cook and head groom by now seemed like members of their small family.

"I should tell Father H we're leaving."

Tom nodded approval. "I'll take your instrument home for you, but don't dally. We'll need to prepare the house as well as pack our trunks. We'll leave at first light tomorrow."

Jack's friendship with Andrew Hubbard was a curious phenomenon. Although Tom was a daemon, he associated little with the _wearh_. For his part, Jack knew nothing about either daemons or _wearhs_. The only creatures he was familiar with were witches. He was aware Diana Roydon was one. He visited Susanna Norman of the St. James Garlickhythe gathering regularly—likely making a nuisance of himself with his questions about the Roydons. Mistress Norman's sons were his classmates at the grammar school.

Tom hoped he could hold onto his innocence a while longer. What would the boy think if he knew that Matthew Roydon, the man he idolized, was a _wearh_?

Jack was due for several rude shocks as he grew older. He'd become close friends with the _wearhs_ Leonard and Bryn, but didn't know their true nature. Jack talked about them as if they were his big brothers and dreamed of being hired as a musician in their playing company. He thought Bryn was a boy a few years younger than Leonard. But that boy who was such a skilled actor and gambist wasn't just hiding one secret. Leonard had confided in Tom that she was a girl. With no women allowed to act, Bryn had been concealing her gender for decades. It was unfortunate she'd never met Mistress Roydon. Both of them were free thinkers of a type rarely seen among women in England.

#

After the first flush of excitement, Jack quickly remembered he couldn't simply vanish. If Mistress Roydon returned while he was gone, she'd never find him. Possibly, the Roydons had heard about the plague. That might be the reason they were staying away. But Jack still needed to check the quays just in case. 

He found Father H kneeling at prayer before the altar at Christ Church. Not wanting to disturb him, Jack silently slipped into a pew to wait till he'd finished.

"Why aren't you at school, young Jack?" Father H said without turning around.

Jack had gotten used to Father H having eyes in the back of his head. He'd long ago given up trying to sneak up on him. "Master Morley is closing the school." Jack explained that he'd be leaving for Petworth. Father H didn't display much of a reaction, but his emotions were usually difficult to read.

Father H got up and sat beside him. "What troubles you?"

"What if the Roydons return while I'm gone?"

He exhaled slowly. "Jack, we've already gone over this many times. The Roydons are not coming back to London."

Jack knew he shouldn't contradict him, but how could he know? Father H had admitted he never heard from them. The last time Jack asked, the priest got angry and forbade him to ask again. Leonard said that Father H was aware of everything that went on in London and if there were any news he'd tell him. That left Jack more confused than ever. Father H was a solitary priest living in a seldom-used church. How could he possibly know so much?

"You can't be sure," Jack blurted out before he could stop himself.

Father H studied him for a moment. "That's true, but I do hear about everything concerning witches and . . . others in my domain. Trust me that if they return, I'll know about it and get word to you. Master Harriot is right to leave London. You should go with him."

"Have you heard anything from Leonard and Bryn?"

"Their playing company is at Burghley House now. Bryn told me they're scheduled to perform at Salisbury later this summer. Petworth's on the way. Perhaps they can stop and visit you. I'll send word of your whereabouts."

"Shouldn't you leave, too?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Didn't you just give me orders to keep watch for the Roydons? I can't do both, lad."

Jack swallowed. He hadn't realized he'd placed Father H in an untenable position. He should stay here after all—

"I can tell what you're thinking, and you need to cast that notion aside. My place is here with my flock."

"Aren't you worried about getting sick?"

"No," he replied quietly. "You shouldn't concern yourself about that."

Was it because the witches were keeping him safe? Jack hoped so. All the witches he knew in London—Goody Alsop, Annie, Mistress Norman and her family—had been spared. Jack figured they knew a spell which was keeping them safe. He didn't have the chance to see Annie much now that he was in school and she was working for Master Shakespeare, but weekends she sometimes visited Mistress Norman's. Once in a while, she told him stories about what Master Shakespeare was working on.

Jack stood up. "I'll stop off at the Normans to let them know."

Father H shook his head. "It's best for you to go straight home. The streets are not as safe as they used to be. I'll inform them."

With the usual admonitions to behave—Father H's words were more stern than he was—Jack was on his way. He hugged Father H before he left and said a silent prayer for Mistress Norman to keep everyone safe.

#

The trip to Petworth was the longest journey Jack had ever undertaken on horseback. He rode with Master Harriot and Robin. When Mop tired of trotting beside them, he rested in the cart of goods which Lowenna was driving. Mop now weighed more than Jack. Robin teased him he should ride his dog instead of a horse.

The countryside with its meadows and forests was a new world to Jack. London was always filled with people. Here they could go long stretches without seeing anyone. They rode through villages not much larger than a block in London. Master Harriot kept reminding him to close his mouth or he'd swallow flies. Jack didn't pay much attention—not with birds and animals to spot that he'd never seen before. Butterflies in colors he'd never imagined. He wanted to draw everything, and Master Harriot said he'd have plenty of paper in Petworth to do just that.

The woods appeared magical, and Lowenna entertained them with stories about the creatures who lived there. She was Cornish and knew fascinating tales of faeries, browneys, knockers, and other little folk.

Lowenna pointed to a clump of trees. "This is just the right sort of woodland for piskies, I warrant."

Robin snorted. "I hope you're not trying to scare us."

"I shouldn't need to," she scoffed. "If you had any sense, you'd know that piskies have led many a traveler astray."

Jack scanned the trees anxiously. "How will I recognize them?"

"They're tiny—only about the size of a mouse. They look like wizened old men."

"Pay her no mind, Jack." Master Harriot advised. "In all my travels, I've never seen one."

"I think faeries are real," Jack insisted. "Master Chapman had me study Edmund Spenser's _The Faerie Queen_ e. He must believe in faeries. And he's not the only one. Annie told me Master Shakespeare is working on a play which will include faeries. They won't be malicious, but beautiful and kind. Besides, dragons are real. Why can't faeries be, too?"

Faced with that overwhelming evidence, no one challenged him. Master Harriot refused to discuss Corra with him, but Lowenna had seen Mistress Roydon's firedrake. She'd told him tales of red and white dragons fighting each other in Cornwall. In class they'd discussed Geoffrey Monmouth's _History of Britain_. Jack had learned about Merlin, King Arthur, and most particularly dragons. It made him yearn to ask Mistress Roydon if Corra was related. That was at the top of his list of questions when he saw her again.

"Be careful, lad," Robin cautioned. "Not all spirits are beautiful and playful. Have you ever heard of _wearhs_?"

"Once, I heard Leonard use the word. I asked what it meant but he wouldn't tell me."

" _Wearhs_ are like ghosts but even scarier," Robin declared. "They're the dead come alive, rising out of their graves and feasting on our blood—"

"Stop it, Robin," Master Harriot said sharply. "No need to frighten Jack."

"Well, I'm right, ain't I?" Robin insisted, setting his jaw and turning to Lowenna, the source of wisdom for all magical creatures.

"Aye, you are," she confirmed. "My grandmother personally witnessed an opened grave where the corpse inside was as fresh as if he were alive. He looked like he could jump out and—"

"There'll be no more talk of this," Master Harriot said, slamming the door on her description, "not with so many souls dying daily." He turned to Jack. "Tell me about _The Faerie Queene_. I haven't read it."

As Jack related some of the tales which he particularly enjoyed, his unease over _wearhs_ gradually eased. Master Harriot hadn't contradicted Robin. Did that mean they existed? How many other creatures were there that he didn't know about? He liked to play in the churchyard of Christ Church. Were any _wearhs_ inside the coffins?

Master Harriot began relating the history of Petworth, causing Jack to lay aside thoughts of corpses rising from their graves. The house had been built three hundred years ago and was close to the parish church. Large herds of fallow deer lived on the estate.

When they finally arrived, Lord Northumberland was on hand to greet them personally. Any shyness Jack felt over not having seen him in months quickly dissipated. Master Chapman was there too, greeting him in Greek just like he had at the Hart and Crown. 

Lord Northumberland had a chest of viols at Petworth which Jack was free to use and a never-ending supply of paper. His lordship stayed for only a couple of days, explaining he was needed at court, but before he left he took Jack on a tour of the entire estate. Ned Farley, the son of one of the groomsmen, was only a few years older than Jack and already an expert rower. Over the span of the next few weeks, Ned taught Jack how to swim as well as row.

Jack didn't have much time to miss his friends in London. Master Harriot tasked him with drawing the night sky while he worked on his experiments. Jack kept his drawing supplies on one of the tables in the great hall. Along with the wild animals he spotted, he continued to sketch scenes from his life with the Roydons. Sometimes Annie or their servants Pierre and Françoise would be included. Drawing them made his former life seem more real.

#

On a rainy day in late June, Master Chapman called Jack into the library for a lesson. Jack's current assignment was to translate a passage from Plautus. Master Chapman claimed that since Jack wanted to join a playing company, the Roman playwright was the perfect choice. Regrettably, he didn't ask Jack for his opinion.

They sat opposite each other at an oak table near a mullioned glass window. Raindrops drizzled down the glass. It was too wet to go riding or swimming but he'd much rather be drawing than translating Latin. Plautus was the most difficult author he'd ever attempted. The sheet of paper which was supposed to be used for his translation was being filled up by doodles instead. Wasn't there some magical creature who could do his work for him? If he drew Corra, she might help.

"You'd get more done if you stopped kicking the chair so often," Master Chapman said, not looking up. "You should like _Menaechmi_. Will thinks highly of the comedy. I hear he may write an adaptation."

"The words don't make any sense," Jack complained.

"That's because Plautus wrote in colloquial Latin. Keep at it. The meaning will eventually come to you."

"Did you hear Annie works for Master Shakespeare now?"

"Perhaps she'll put in a good word for you with Will. Having contacts is mandatory for any budding thespian."

"She may not want to recommend me," Jack admitted. "She still remembers what a pest I was at the Roydons."

Master Chapman put down his quill and crossed his arms on the table. "You should change her perceptions of you. Run some errands for her. Offer to help."

Jack was counting on Leonard and Bryn to smooth the way. His dream was to join their playing company, Lord Strange's Men, when he left choir school. That was still four years off, but he needed to plan ahead. Bryn thought he had a chance to get on as a musician.

"What are you working on, Master Chapman?" Jack asked.

"Kit Marlowe was working on a poem at the time of his death. It's called _Hero and Leander_. As a tribute to our friendship, I plan to finish it." He laid his quill on the holder and stretched his fingers. "The meetings of our group at the Roydons are among the happiest memories I have. Finishing the poem will be partly in honor of Kit and partly for Matthew. What do you think of this line?" Master Chapman read aloud: "Love is a golden bubble, full of dreams, that waking breaks, and fills us with extremes."

"Love is a golden bubble of dreams," Jack repeated, wrapping his head around the metaphor. "It makes me want to draw."

Master Chapman smiled. "Plautus can wait. I'd like to see what you come up with."

Jack could already see the picture in his mind. "Master Roydon told me that when you dream of the ones you love, they seem closer. Now they'll float in golden bubbles."

"I miss them, too, lad. I've decided to dedicate a poem to Matthew, _The Shadow of Night_. Would you like to read it?"

There was no doubt of Jack's answer. But first, he wanted to talk about the Roydons. No one else at Petworth would discuss them. He suspected they were trying to get him to forget about them, but that would never happen.

* * *

_Notes: In Chapter 2: Wearhs and Wizards, Leonard and Brie arrive with news from London._

_My Pinterest board has illustrations of Paul's walk and St. Paul's Cathedral as it looked before the Great Fire. The plague of 1592-1593 killed roughly one-eighth of London's population. Theaters were closed from 1592 to 1594. Petworth House at this time was a fortified manor house. It was demolished in the 17th century and replaced by a much grander house._

_The Shadow of Night was published in 1594. George Chapman dedicated the poem to Matthew Roydon, a poet about whom very little is known. Roydon is believed to have been a member of the group of free thinkers called the School of Night. Chapman published Hero and Leander in 1600. William Shakespeare's adaptation of the Plautus play is The Comedy of Errors. There's additional background information in my blog post "[Backdrop to Golden Bubble](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2019/07/six-crossed-knot-backdrop-to-golden.html)." _

_Many thanks to Penna Nomen for her beta help on this story!_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com). See the Six-Crossed Knot page for background information on the series and an introduction to the world of All Souls Trilogy._   
_Story visuals are on the Six-Crossed Knot board of my Pinterest website: Silbrith's Stories:[https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/)_


	2. Wearhs and Wizards

**Hampton Court Palace, Surrey. July 1593.**

When the queen announced her plans to leave for Windsor Castle, Hal expelled the sigh of relief which had been rumbling to break free for days. God's Bones, he'd had a bellyful of ceremonial duties. For the past two months, he'd been forced to play the courtier's game at Hampton Court with only a few breaks. He was now at liberty to return to Petworth.

Hal invited the painter Nicholas Hilliard to accompany him. Nicholas was an old friend. He'd spent the past few weeks at court preparing a miniature of the queen, but that work was done and no one else had requested a portrait.

Hal had made the artist's acquaintance through Mary Sidney's patronage. Since the onslaught of the plague, his commissions had become scarce. Nicholas supplemented his income by giving lessons, but that source of funds had likely also dried up. It didn't take much convincing on Hal's part to persuade him to come to Petworth. Nicholas had yet to paint miniatures of him. This would be an excellent opportunity. Hal intended to commission at least two and suspected several of the other landowners would follow his example.

The manor was unusually quiet when they arrived. No running footsteps or music coming out of the great hall, meaning Jack was likely somewhere outside. Hal had enjoyed having the boy at Petworth. Someday he hoped to have children of his own. Jack was providing plenty of instruction on what it would be like.

"You must be thirsty after the long ride," Hal said. "I know I am." He called out to a servant to bring them wine.

His valet entered the hall, bearing Nicholas's trunk. "Where will Master Hilliard stay?" he asked.

"In the room next to Tom Harriot."

"If you'll permit me, I'll first remove my paints," Nicholas suggested.

Hal glanced around the hall. "That table under the window will make a good work area for you."

"It appears to be already taken," Nicholas said, eyeing the papers scattered over the surface.

"They're likely Tom's. He can use the library instead."

When Nicholas stacked the sheets, he paused to study one. Rather surprising, really. Last time Hal checked with Tom, he was working on a thorny problem in optics, not the kind of subject which would appeal to an artist. Hal walked over to see what was so intriguing.

Nicholas held up one of the sheets, raising a brow. "I didn't realize Harriot was an artist."

"I should have guessed," Hal said with a chuckle. "That's one of Jack's drawings." Hal recognized the subject as Annie, the girl who'd assisted Diana when they were in London. "The boy's ten years old, all legs and arms in constant motion when he's not sketching. I've been taking care of him for friends."

"The lad has talent." Nicholas thumbed through the pages and held up another one for Hal to look at. "This reminds me of one of my miniatures. Lady Mary Spenser had asked me to paint Mistress Roydon and her husband."

Hal picked up the drawing. Jack had drawn Diana's head surrounded by a large circle. Did he intend it to be a halo? Surely he didn't think Diana had died. But then maybe he did. No one had ever attempted to explain to him the concept of timewalking. "The Roydons acted as Jack's guardians when they were in London," he explained. "When they left, Matthew asked for my help."

A door slammed and a high-pitched voice was heard, calling out, "Lord Northumberland!" A second later Jack raced in. He stopped short when he saw Nicholas. Eyes grown wide, he started to retreat.

"Jack, come here," Hal invited. "You're just the one I wanted to see," he added to spare him the embarrassment of having burst in on them. Placing his hands firmly on the boy's shoulders to keep him in place, he said, "This is Nicholas Hilliard. Nicholas, meet Jack Blackfriars, budding artist."

Jack bowed respectfully. "I'm honored. Mistress Roydon showed me the miniatures you'd painted of her and Master Roydon."

"Thank you, Jack," Nicholas said, a twinkle in his eyes. "I've been admiring your works as well. I recognized Mistress Roydon immediately. It's not easy to capture such a good likeness."

Jack's face turned scarlet as he stammered his appreciation. Clearly, Jack held Nicholas in much higher regard than most of society did.

"You've surrounded her in a circle," Nicholas said. "Did you intend to show what the image would look like as a miniature?"

He shook his head. "I tried to draw her inside a bubble but I couldn't get the bubble to look right."

"Why a bubble?"

Jack described George's line about love being a dream in a golden bubble. Nicholas was intrigued by the concept and soon whipped out a quill to indicate how he'd achieve the effect. Watching Jack's fascination, Hal realized he'd hit upon a solution for the two of them. He'd hire Nicholas to give the boy lessons. Not that Hal would necessarily recommend the life of an artist for Jack. It was only marginally more lucrative than a life as a musician.

#

Bryn studied the landscape in front of them from atop her horse. "Are you sure you want to tell him?"

Leonard winced. "We've already gone over this. Father H believes it's the correct course, and I can't disobey his order. Besides, think how Jack would feel if he only finds out when he returns to London. Wouldn't that be worse?"

"Not necessarily, but you know him better than I do. I'm sorry for the kid, though. He's already lost several of his friends in choir school."

"And he'll lose us soon," Leonard added. "Jack will start wondering why we don't age, particularly you. He thinks you're only sixteen." He was a little surprised Jack hadn't already asked why Bryn's voice hadn't deepened.

She nodded glumly. "I'll miss him. I've liked having a kid brother to boss around."

Jack was the first human Leonard had let himself get close to since he'd been reborn. Now he understood why Father H had warned him to steer clear of warmbloods. The upcoming separation was weighing on him. Jack was bound to feel he was being abandoned once more. Eventually, Father H would have to avoid him, as well.

They were wrapping up their performances in Cambridge when the messenger from Father H arrived. Petworth was on the way to their next destination, and Leonard had already planned to stop. The serenity of Lord Northumberland's estate was a world away from the congestion of London where the smell of death was a constant.

"We should go ahead and tell Jack," Bryn declared.

Leonard sighed. Bryn could be a trial. "That's what I've been—"

"Not about Annie, although I guess you'll have to, but about us."

"That we're _wearhs_?"

"Don't look so horrified. Isn't that better than us disappearing from his life?"

"He'll be terrified of us. He'll think we're monsters."

"Not necessarily. He adores Mistress Roydon even though he knows she's a witch. Instead of being scared of her firedrake, he thought she was his pet."

"Yeah, but witches are different. They're warmbloods too." He added in a lower voice, "They don't feed on blood."

"You don't have to tell him that. See how he reacts to the general idea, or better yet, wait till he's gotten used to us being different."

Leonard eyed her skeptically. "Should I go ahead and tell him you're a girl, too?"

"No, better not. Being a _wearh_ is so unusual, it's not something that would come up in casual conversation. But if he knew I was a girl, it could easily slip out."

She'd get no argument from him about that. Leonard had lost track of how many times he'd nearly used "she" when referring to Bryn.

"Worse yet, he might fall in love with me," she added.

Leonard snorted. "Jack's just a kid. You don't have to worry about that for a long time. Still, it could be for the best. Jack doesn't need that extra burden."

"You'll have to be the one to tell him. You're much closer to him."

"I figured you'd leave it to me, as usual."

She reached over and slapped his horse's rump. "Then you better get started before you lose your nerve."

Together they cantered down the slope to Petworth House.

"Isn't that Jack by the lake?" she asked.

Leonard stared at the small figure sitting on the ground. "I bet it is." He nudged his horse into a gallop.

As they approached, Jack spotted them and stood up to wave. When they dismounted, he raced forward to greet them.

"Miss me, lad?" Leonard said, wrapping his arms around him to give him a bear hug.

"You know I did."

"We're on our way to Salisbury," Bryn explained, "Petworth wasn't much of a detour. We couldn't ride by without stopping to see you."

Jack's cheeks reddened. "Did you stop off in London on the way? Do you have any news?"

"So many questions," Bryn joked, flicking Leonard a quick look. "But you're not the only one. We want to hear about what you've been up to. Aren't you going to show us around? We've never been to Petworth."

Now that Leonard saw Jack's excited face, postponing the news as long as possible seemed like an excellent idea. Maybe they could finagle an invitation to stay. Their next performance was scheduled for a few weeks from now, so there was no rush to leave.

Jack showed them the great hall and introduced them to Nicholas Hilliard. Lord Northumberland had gone out riding with the others and wasn't around. Leonard caught Bryn eyeing some of the silver vessels speculatively. He gave her a punch when Jack wasn't looking. There'd be no stealing from Jack's guardian.

Jack gave them a tour of the stables and introduced them to the horse which was his to ride. When they left, they passed an herb garden where an attractive girl with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes was snipping rosemary cuttings. Jack introduced her as Nan, the daughter of the household steward. 

"I'm quite interested in herbs," Bryn lied. Leonard hid his snicker. She was much more interested in blue-eyed wenches.

"Jack, you go ahead with Leonard," she said, giving him a gentle shove. "I'll catch up with you later."

Leonard didn't fault her. She was providing him the opportunity to talk with Jack alone, and if she had some fun in the interim, it wasn't his place to mention anything.

"Let's go by the lake," Leonard said. They'd be able to talk undisturbed. Maybe the peacefulness of the setting would ease the inevitable pain the boy would feel.

Once they were there, Leonard suggested they sit down on a bench overlooking the water. Something in his tone must have given him away because Jack was watching him uneasily.

"What happened?" he asked. "Did Father H get sick?"

"No, not him." Leonard draped an arm over his shoulders. "I don't know of a good way to tell you," he admitted. "Annie caught the plague. She died three weeks ago."

Jack flung off Leonard's arm and stared at him, horrified. "She couldn't have! Witches don't get sick!"

"Sorry, lad, but they do." Leonard tried to explain how Father H only found out after she'd died, but he didn't think Jack was paying attention. He'd buried his face in Leonard's doublet. He wasn't crying but his thin body shook as if he were freezing. Leonard wished he were warmer. He wrapped his arms around him and rested his chin on top of his head, not knowing what else he could do.

They stayed like that for several minutes till Jack looked up, his face flushed. "What about Father H?"

"I told you he's fine."

"Not if he remains in London. He has to leave now!"

Leonard shook his head. "He never leaves London. But Goody Alsop and the Normans have left. They're staying with family in Norfolk."

"Father H will get sick and die too. I need to go there and convince him. I bet his lordship will let him stay here. We have to do something!"

"Listen to me. You don't have to worry about Father H."

"How can you know?" Jack said, jumping up.

"You just have to trust me."

"I thought Annie would be safe. I was wrong. How can Father H escape what she couldn't?" His bloodshot eyes scanned Leonard's face pleadingly.

God's Bones, this was not what he intended. Was Bryn right, or if Jack knew about them, would it only increase his misery? Nothing was certain, but at least Jack wouldn't have to worry about them.

Leonard took a breath. "Because he's a _wearh_ , that's why."

Jack stared at him stunned, his mouth dropping open.

Leonard swiped a hand over his chin, immediately doubting the wisdom of his decision. But Jack couldn't return to London . . . "Do you know what that means?"

"Lowenna told me," he whispered. "Father H rose from a grave. He never dies."

_Close enough_. "And he can't get sick."

Jack swallowed. "Are you a _wearh_ too?"

"Aye, and so is Bryn. We don't age. That's why Bryn's voice is still so high." Jack continued to stare, his brown eyes grown enormous, but he didn't seem terrified, at least that's what Leonard hoped.

"You're not saying this just to make me feel better?" Jack demanded.

"God's Truth, I'm not lying, and I'll prove it." Leonard rolled up the sleeve of his shirt then retrieved his dagger from its sheath.

Jack looked at him worriedly. "What are you going to do?"

"Just watch, and don't fret. No harm will come to me." Leonard traced a jagged line with the knife on his forearm. The wound was just deep enough to cause blood to flow but would heal quickly. He wiped the blade on the grass and returned it to its sheath. He then propped his forearm on his knee, palm up. "Do you see how the skin is already healing itself?"

Jack nodded, his grief apparently momentarily set aside. "Is this _wearh_ magic?"

"Not really. It's just who we are." Thank God, Jack wasn't asking questions about how they fed. Leonard rested a tentative hand on his shoulder and when the lad didn't flinch, Leonard began to breathe easier.

"We're still your friends. I think of you as my kid brother and always will. Father H loves you just as before. It's just . . . we're not like regular people. You already know about witches. Now you know about _wearhs_. I've entrusted you with a big secret. You can't tell anyone about us. If you do, we could be hunted down, and although we can't catch diseases, we can die if the wounds are severe enough. Do you understand?"

"Aye, Lowenna would be afraid of you, but I'm not, and I promise I won't tell anyone." Jack worried his lip for a moment. "Do you know any faeries?"

_Where'd that come from?_ Jack looked completely serious. "Can't answer to that, but daemons are real."

#

The world became a much more complicated place for Jack that summer. When Tom returned home to find Leonard with the boy, he had a premonition it wasn't for a casual visit. Tom had always known that Jack would eventually find out about _wearhs_. He couldn't spend so much time at Christ Church without discovering Hubbard's nature.

The news about Annie was distressing but not a surprise. Everyone was losing family members and friends. When Hal heard about her, he worried about Jack having to cope with the loss of yet another member of the Roydon household and invited Leonard and Bryn to stay at Petworth. Hal had a generosity of spirit unusual in one of such an elevated rank.

They were all the beneficiaries of Hal's invitation. For the following week, the great hall was filled with music and poetry. Bryn, Jack, and Leonard entertaining them daily with madrigals. The three of them performed scenes from plays and recited poetry.

Nicholas continued his work on two miniatures of Hal. Under his expert guidance, Jack received his first painting lessons. Hal had a couple of works by Hans Holbein at Petworth. Nicholas was quite an admirer of the earlier artist and used the works as instructional aids.

The Roydons would have enjoyed their evening discussions. The cryptic messages Hal had Hilliard include in one of the miniatures would have been appreciated by the secretive Matthew. Hal tried to persuade Walter Raleigh to visit them at Petworth, but after his release from the Tower he'd retired to Dorset with his wife. He was probably doing Hal a service. The queen was still displeased that Walter had married without her permission. If Hal entertained them, he could also suffer from her wrath.

Bryn left to join the playing company the following weekend. That may have been for the best. Jack had spotted her kissing Nan, the steward's daughter. Fortunately, he still believed Bryn was a boy. There had been enough disclosures for one summer.

#

On a rainy afternoon, Tom was working on an elusive refraction equation when his lordship came into the library.

Hal dropped into an oak side chair next to the table. "The queen will be on tour along the southern coast for the next month. I'll need to accompany her but you and Jack should remain here. The news from London isn't good. The plague continues unabated."

"What about Nicholas?"

"He's received several new commissions, and he's welcome to stay here till they're completed. Afterward, Mary wants him to go to Wilton."

Mary Sidney had taken her children to Wilton House in Salisbury till the plague relaxed its grip. Her husband, the Earl of Pembroke, was the patron of a playing company. Hal had mentioned speaking to Mary about Jack once he finished choir school. Assuming, that is, Pembroke's Men were still around. With London's theaters closed, it was a difficult time for actors. Many of the companies were disbanding.

"Matthew and Diana were wise to leave when they did," Hal said. He picked up one of the quills on the table and began to twiddle it in his fingers. "Does Jack know about Matthew?"

"That he's a _wearh_? No. Leonard, of course, is aware of who he is and also his relationship to the de Clermonts. Leonard realizes how much the boy idolizes Matthew and he doesn't want to do anything to harm the image." Tom paused to chuckle. "In many respects, Jack's retained his innocence. He doesn't understand how _wearhs_ feed or how they're sired."

"He doesn't?" Hal asked, reacting with surprise.

Tom shook his head. "He believes they're born that way, just like witches and daemons."

Hal shrugged. "In a sense they are, but it's a rebirth."

"It's better Jack remain ignorant. Leonard proved his nature by healing a stab wound on the spot. If Jack realized he could be reborn, he'd pester him endlessly to make him a _wearh_ too."

"Especially if he knew about Matthew. You were right to not tell him." Hal shook his head. "As time passes, Jack's memories seem stronger than ever. I hate to think what would happen if he should ever run into Matthew."

"That's not likely to happen, is it?"

"I don't think so. I saw Gallowglass at Hampton Court. He said Matthew's in Amsterdam. His father Philippe will ensure Matthew doesn't return to England." A crooked smile crossed his face. "Did you have that talk with Jack?"

"About being a daemon?" Tom chuckled. "I did. It didn't have the effect I expected. Instead of being fearful, he's envious. Being a mere human seems quite dull in comparison. All my efforts to explain that I have no magical abilities went for naught. Jack's skill in deductive reasoning sharpens daily. He argued that since I only knew about being a daemon because witches and _wearhs_ could sense it, he might be one too."

Hal laughed. "Poor lad! He and I will have to form a club. The School of Mere Mortals, that's what we'll call ourselves."

"He'll deny you admission. You shouldn't have let Jack observe your experiments in alchemy. He's heard others describe you as the Wizard Earl. He's convinced that's literally true."

Hal slapped his knee in delight. "Surely an exaggeration!"

"God's Truth," Tom insisted. "Jack's put you on a pedestal right next to Merlin."

"No wonder I love that boy! He saw through my disguise. I should request his assistance in another experiment. Mary sent me notes on her latest efforts. They appear exceptionally promising. I have some time before I need to leave." Hal stood up and bounded out of the room, bellowing for Jack.

#

The plague eventually ran its course. Jack returned to London in time for the new year. Master Morley sent word that school would resume in January. Master Hilliard reopened his shop on Gutter Lane which was only a couple of blocks from St. Paul's. His lordship ensured that Jack could continue to receive lessons from the artist.

London seemed lonelier now that Annie was no longer part of it. The first Saturday he was back, Jack went to see the Normans. The familiarity of Mistress Norman's parlor with Goody Alsop sitting on the settle by the lit fire and the scents of herbs brought back old memories with a rush. He could picture Mistress Roydon in a chair beside them with Corra cackling from the rafters.

There were hugs and tears all around as Jack stammered his sorrow about Annie. "Are John and Jeffrey okay?"

"They're well," Mistress Norman assured him. "They're running errands for me. They should be here in a little while. You're welcome to wait for them by the fire."

Jack reached into his cloth knapsack. "I made this for you." He handed her the sheet of vellum.

"Oh, Jack . . ." Mistress Norman's eyes teared up when she saw it and she handed it to Goody.

Jack shuffled his feet, waiting to hear if they liked it. It was the first painting he'd given anyone. He'd painted Annie. Master Hilliard had advised him not to attempt anything in miniature, so he'd painted her on a folio of paper. The paper itself was cream colored and by painting her within a circle, it looked a little like a golden bubble.

When they heaped enough praise on him to make him no longer anxious about them liking it, Mistress Norman took it upstairs to show her husband.

"What's your next project?" Goody Alsop asked.

"Mistress Roydon."

"You must show it to me when you're done."

"I'll give it to you," he promised. He knew he'd be painting her often.

Goody's eyes darted in the direction of the stairs. "Come here, child and sit beside me. I have something private to tell you."

When Jack joined her on the settle, she said, "There's no need for you to go to the quays asking about her. Mistress Roydon will not return to London."

His heart plummeted to his feet. "Did she get sick, too?" he whispered.

"No," she said quickly. "Can you keep a secret?"

He nodded. "I already am." He couldn't tell her about Father H and Leonard, but she probably already knew.

"The Roydons returned to their home . . . And their home is hundreds of years in the future. That's why you couldn't go with them."

"What do you mean?"

"Your mistress is a powerful witch. She was able to timewalk with her husband to our time but now they've gone back. Those monastery ruins at Christ Church were built hundreds of years ago. They're as remote to us as we are to the Roydons."

Jack thought over her words. At first, they made his chance of seeing them smaller than ever, then he realized he was viewing it the wrong way. Delighted, he hugged her. He was very careful because she was so frail. "Thank you! This is the best gift you could have given me."

Her brow wrinkled. "I thought you'd be sad."

"If they timewalked before, that means they can again." Jack had been afraid that their reunion would never happen. Now he knew it was just a matter of time.

Goody exhaled then smiled. "Hope is a strong force. You keep yours burnished bright, young Jack. Do you remember Mistress Roydon's silk cords?"

He nodded.

"You have cords too. The strings on your viol are cords linking you to the Roydons. When you play, the music strengthens your connections to them and they'll seem closer to you."

Not as satisfying as seeing them in person, but he'd take what he could get.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! A few notes about this chapter: Nicholas Hilliard's miniatures of Lord Northumberland are on my Pinterest board. The larger miniature is indeed cryptic and filled with hidden meanings. This pdf contains a fascinating analysis:<https://www.shafe.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/northumberland.pdf>. _   
_Queen Elizabeth I regularly conducted royal tours, known as progresses, in the summer. They were particularly beneficial during outbreaks of the plague._

_In my next story in the series, Illusion's Voice, I'll jump ahead to 1599 when a crisis leads sixteen-year-old Jack to reconnect with a few friends from his past. I plan to post Illusion's Voice in October._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com). _   
_Story visuals: Six-Crossed Knot board of my Pinterest website,[Silbrith's Stories](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith)_


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